


"I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm"

by FalleNess



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29444769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalleNess/pseuds/FalleNess
Summary: A short, self-indulgent, cheesy AF Ressler/OFC drubble. No deep meaning (TM), no drama, no problematic content, nada-nada-nada.//A VD gift for the amazing Ressler stan, Resslerette! Love you to the moon and back!//*clears her throat* RESSLER HAS QUIT THE FUCKING FBI AND LIVES HAPPILY WITH HIS GIRLFRIEND IN A LOG CABIN AT THE LAKE.#Resslerdeservesbetter//“I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm” by Billie Holiday.
Relationships: Donald Ressler/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 7





	"I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm"

**Author's Note:**

> A short, self-indulgent, cheesy AF Ressler/OFC drubble. No deep meaning (TM), no drama, no problematic content, nada-nada-nada.  
> //  
> A VD gift for the amazing Ressler stan, Resslerette! Love you to the moon and back!  
> //  
> *clears her throat* RESSLER HAS QUIT THE FUCKING FBI AND LIVES HAPPILY WITH HIS GIRLFRIEND IN A LOG CABIN AT THE LAKE.  
> #Resslerdeservesbetter  
> //  
> “I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm” by Billie Holiday.

_The snow is snowin'_   
_The wind is blowin'_   
_But I can weather the storm_   
_What do I care how much it may storm_   
_I've got my love to keep me warm_

Falling snow, tossed and thrown by gusts of raging wind, twirls into cone-like craters and bangs at the log cabin windows. A giant, ten times enlarged snowfall hammer is hitting them, and the window frames—the last frontier on the snowstorm's way—let out a helpless screech. Another tide of snow thrashes in a clamorous cannonade over a pane.

Jesse wraps her hands tighter around the steaming mug of hot chocolate, piercing into the snowfall. A worrisome wrinkle is nestled between her brows as she is trying to discern anything past the whiteout. It's supposed to be noon, but everything has blurred into whiteness, the clock on the wall—an only witness of current reality.

The blizzard strikes again—with a visceral howl, fiercely sprinkling another cascade of snow against the glass. The flames in the fireplace—troubled rattlesnakes—hiss in return, displeased. Jesse feeds them a kindling, and the flames' tongues gratefully lick the wood, crackling joyfully at their feast.

She hears an engine's roar—

just the wind clawing at the windows, reverberating all over the cabin.

Sleazy and cold “what-ifs” are creeping under Jesse's skin. She pulls on her sweater collar and starts pacing—or, rather, maneuvering—across the living room, crammed with a sofa and two armchairs, stacked piles of newspapers and car repair mags, and a large bookcase, taking up all the wall's space.

“Damn it!” Her feet, wrapped in wool stockings worn over skinny pants, slide across the wooden floor. She manages to keep her balance but doesn't stop pacing, this time—across the rug.

_Dear God, I swear, when his sorry ass lands on the porch, I'll..._

A thud follows—and Jesse turns her head in the direction. She hurries to the front door just in time to see a familiar silhouette stepping inside.

Ressler, or, rather, a five feet tall snowman, with two grocery bags at his feet, is shaking up the snow off his parka. He unzips it and hangs it on the rack. Taking his knit beanie off, he gives Jess an apologizing smile, his cheek dimples deepening. Tiniest snowflakes are shimmering in his strawberry blond hair, and his forehead, nose, and cheeks are reddened as if someone has rouged them.

“I honestly thought I'd make it till—” Jesse crosses her arms against her chest. A part of her doesn't want to admit that for an agent— _ex-agent,_ she mentally corrects herself—her sleep is tighter than a baby's. And another part wants nothing more than kicking his ass back into that goddamn weather. Preferably, naked. The imagery almost costs her the “pissed off girlfriend” look.

“..but guess I didn't,” Ressler deadpans, not aware she had to stifle a giggle: him running around the log cabin, freezing his butt—and other, also important parts—off and asking to let him in... _What a sight._ “'Kay, shoot me,” he draws in closer and raises his hands, a shadow of his Cheshire grin lies on his lips.

“Jerk.” Jesse softly punches him, her fist sinking in his sweater. _Oh, she'd tell him, tell him a lot! And he'd know better, he'd know better than not waking her up, and ignoring her explicit ask not to go, and..._

His closeness numbs her resolve to the point she doesn't pull away when Ressler leans in for a kiss, his hands cupping her face. When his chapped lips brush over hers, one of those odd things crawls into her mind— _the blizzard has left her mark on him too..._ Jesse could swear, she now knows what it smells like: pine, moisture, and cold. Not the usual chill easily tackled with warm clothes; rather a penetrating, all-consuming, guttural coldness. Lifeless. Dead.

His palms, cupping her face, slide over her shoulders to rest on her back, and Jesse instinctively presses herself against Ressler, hoping to give up as much warmth as she possibly can. She gently grazes her lips over his, slowly sucking on his lower lip. Not meeting any resistance—quite the contrary, an attempt to lead she brushes off with a nibble onto his lip—she threads her fingers into his damp hair, her fingertips stroking his nape.

A brief instant, before their lips meet for another kiss, she looks into his eyes.

A snowflake, almost indiscernible, melts on his eyelash.


End file.
